Tuesday, November 12, 2013


I so appreciate everything about this chapter of my life, even the frustrating and challenging bits, and yet... it saddens me to think of how much of it I experience alone. Yes, I'm independent, and my Paris-based friends and French family are absolutely wonderful, but so are those of mine at home. And though living abroad with a significant other and/or meeting the love of my life in a foreign country sounds really nice, it's just not my reality. I wonder: am I missing out on sharing moments with those I have deepest roots?
When I left for South America, at 19, I'd feared I'd be forgotten about. My familiar life would go on without me. It did. Obviously. But I was able to strenuously find my place again when I returned. So now, (though I'm dreading the eventual bout of reverse culture shock), I'm not so much worried about them as I am about this--this European routine of mundane and extraordinary that's almost too much my own. It's as if I'm at a silence dance party, jamming out to music only I can hear. Memories seem fun yet fleeting.
Please excuse my emo thoughts :). I blame getting sick on my last night in Brussels and skimping on sleep to make it back to Paris in time for work this morning. Other possible causes: officially changing my flight itinerary so I'll be in New York from early-December to mid-February; renting Forget Me Not--a truly "moving, modern day love story"; reading this. In other news, the photo above is my one snapshot of the Parisian silent dance party I went to with Lara in September. It was even cooler than it "sounds."


Penny for your thoughts...